CHAPTER 25
Stephanie had reacted to the attack at the Moscow Circus, along with the scant information Cassiopeia had provided, by leaving her hotel and heading back to the royal palace.
The king and queen were unharmed, as was their security detail.
Good to hear. Reports indicated that all of the attackers escaped the building, two inside a bright-yellow stage car that drove off the premises.
The press was clamoring for a statement, but the palace had maintained a silent approach.
For now.
“We have some screenshots from cameras in the arena,” one of the palace security men said to her.
“Who are the attackers?” Wilhelm demanded to know.
“They were dressed as part of the circus troupe,” the security man said. “Clowns. The organizers are at a loss to explain what happened. Five men and one woman. We are currently investigating and have the local police involved.”
Stephanie approached the long table that stretched diagonally across the room and examined the photos taken from the many cameras.
The images lay side by side, blowups of varying quality, blurred by both the enlargements and smoke.
The clowns were clearly armed, each of them brandishing a weapon and aiming toward the audience.
Another image showed a second woman not in costume taking down one of the clowns, then climbing into a yellow car.
The face familiar. She was both pleased and concerned.
Cassiopeia had done her job.
“Madam Prime Minister,” the king said, “I demand the Russian ambassador be called in and our official displeasure shown over this incident, along with protesting the kidnapping of my sister.”
Stephanie felt for Simone de Ciutiis. She was in an impossible situation.
The media would be pressing for answers, which was not unexpected considering the gravity of what had happened.
An attempt on the king’s life? Not something that occurred in Sweden.
But they could not compound the situation by revealing the kidnapping, as that would entail exposing the deal Sweden had made with the Czechs, which could immediately evaporate.
Surely one of the conditions of the whole thing had been total secrecy.
The Czechs would not want it known that their NATO vote was for sale, and the Swedes would not want to admit that they’d paid the price.
“We cannot do that, Your Majesty. Moscow will simply deny any involvement, and the Czechs will withdraw from the arrangement. That not only complicates our NATO membership but could also place the princess in a difficult situation.”
“Let the Russians deny all they please. They need to know we suspect them. And I frankly do not care what the Czechs think. Only Lysa matters.”
De Ciutiis stared over at her with a look that said, Please help.
“We have to have more facts before either the Russians or the Czechs can be confronted,” Stephanie said.
“What more do we need to know?”
“Quite a bit, actually. This whole thing is filled with questions. I have two operatives in the field, right now, trying to find answers.”
“And what of Sir John Westlake?” the king said, bitterness in his voice. “He was there. In the arena. There’s a photograph.”
She found it. Grainy. But clear enough. “He is on the way here. Right now. Supposedly, he has something to tell us.”
“Really?” the king said. “He was dressed in costume and working with them. Right there when they tried to kill me. Is it wise that he comes here?”
“That may not have been the case,” Stephanie said. “I had an operative there too. She saw everything. We should wait and hear what she has to say.”
“This entire situation is untenable,” the king said, disgust in his voice. “They tried to kill me, Stephanie.”
“We do not know that,” she made clear. “To assassinate the reigning monarch of a neutral country? In such a public way? It makes no sense.”
“The Russians killed Olof Palme,” the king said. “That made no sense either, but we now know it for a fact. It is how we discovered Westlake was a spy in the first place.”
“That was the old Soviet Union who did that, and it took decades for that information to come to the surface,” she pointed out.
“It also came from a defector trying to save his own hide, who died before we could learn more or verify much of anything. There is no way Russia risks world retaliation for kidnapping your sister and killing you. Your Majesty, there is something about this that is not right.”
And she meant every word.
She possessed over two decades of experience in the intelligence business, dealing with some of the most explosive and sensitive situations in the world. Along the way she’d acquired a skill set that allowed her, as Cotton would say, to sift through the crap to get to the grass beneath.
And there was a lot of crap here.
“I am out of patience,” the king said. “Sweden is a gentle place that bothers no one. We simply want to be a part of NATO for our common defense. And why would we not? What harm could that be? My family is likewise harmless, all living exemplary lives. All except for a British commoner who has caused us nothing but trouble. I need something done. Now.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” de Ciutiis said. “But this is a delicate international situation that—I am sorry for the bluntness—simply does not involve you. These are governmental decisions.”
“This does not involve me? My sister is a prisoner, thanks to the government. Somebody just tried to kill me and my wife, thanks to the government.”
“And we are dealing with all of that.”
The door to the Council Chamber opened and Westlake entered the room followed by Cassiopeia. Stephanie noticed that Westlake had shed the costume he’d been wearing in the photographs, now dressed casually.
Stephanie faced the king. “Your Majesty, this is Cassiopeia Vitt. She was there, in the arena, and interrupted the attack on you.”
“Then I owe you a debt of thanks.” The king glared at Westlake. “What were you doing there?”
“I thought I was helping find Lysa.”
“You told us, quite clearly I might add, that you had no way of doing that.”
“I was wrong.”
The king gave a dismissive hand. “You disgust me.”
“You need to hear what he has to say,” Cassiopeia said.
“Hear what?” the king asked.
“The truth, Wilhelm,” Westlake said. “A painful, hurtful fact that it is time you know.”